


Sunday Morning

by hystericalwomannovelist



Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/M, post 4x19, production difficulties, shameless smut with feelings, they just really enjoy each other okay, yogafic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 01:50:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1450960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hystericalwomannovelist/pseuds/hystericalwomannovelist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If this was what balance felt like, it felt pretty fucking fantastic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> One for the bamf squad, and you know who you are, for all the work completed, and all the work ahead.
> 
> Just a little smutfic set sometime soon after 4x19.

Busy as she was, Diane set aside Sunday mornings for herself. The remaining one hundred sixty-four hours of the week she ceded to work, to social engagements, occasionally to sleep, but four hours every Sunday morning belonged inviolably to her. It required a true emergency to disrupt this routine – it happened, but she took some pride in the fact that it happened rarely. It took years for her to come to the realization that everyone and everything could wait for a few hours, that doing things simply to make herself happy might sometimes come first. Even the man lying in bed beside her could wait.

She slipped out of bed and shrugged into her robe, watching him affectionately for a moment, softly snoring and still turned toward the space she had occupied. He had come over late last night, and she had kept him up much later still. He had earned the right to sleep in, she thought with a twisted smile. 

Her Sunday mornings were all the more comforting for their predictability – letting Justice out, bringing in the paper, making coffee the way she preferred but never made time for on weekdays, hand grinding the beans for a pot of French press. She did not check her phone for messages from work. Lately, she was not even tempted to. Leaving Lockhart/Gardner would have been traumatic a few years ago, but now she was ready for a fresh start. Something new to fill the remaining one hundred sixty-four hours. 

There was new, important work to be done – she had reached, at last, the pinnacle of her profession. And love, she had made room for love, too. Marriage. She smiled into her coffee at the thought.

If this was what balance felt like, it felt pretty fucking fantastic. Thirty years of yoga classes and she had never quite understood what it meant – or at least she had not been able to find it in her own life. But suddenly everything seemed to be clicking into place.

She took her coffee and paper to the sitting room. She glanced at the clock, idly wondering when Kurt was likely to get up. It was not clear yet how they would navigate their days together – they were getting married, but they had spent so few _ordinary_ days in each other's company. She knew everything about their arrangement was unconventional, but it did not alarm her. He was not used to her routine, but it did not bother her to think of him puttering around the house while she went about it. It did not bother her to think of him sharing in it, either, if he cared to. There was a chair opposite the one she preferred. It might as well be his.

She read and sipped her coffee as usual, but her thoughts kept drifting away from the international page to him. As much as she tried to focus on stories of war and injustice and corruption she couldn't help but break out into a grin, some flash of memory from the night before, or a sudden fit of wistfulness, gazing stupidly at the empty chair.

After several minutes of this, she set down the paper. Maybe she just needed to _vary_ the routine a bit. Skip ahead to the one thing that never failed to help her focus: yoga.

She cast off her robe again, facing the eastern window in the camisole and pajama pants she had worn to bed. She moved into a series of stretches, loosening up, allowing her thoughts to settle where they may. As much as she tried to live in the present moment in each pose, it was always hard not to fixate on thoughts about the immediate past and future. But she wasn't thinking of the week behind her now, difficult as it had been, or the week ahead, though it promised nothing but stress. She felt oddly at peace – she felt again that elusive balance. He came into her thoughts again, less distinctly, more as a feeling – of happiness, calm, steadiness... a feeling it usually took her an hour of yoga to achieve.

He could be good for her yoga practice. He could be good for her. _This could really work..._

She accepted the thought and let it go again, focusing on her breathing: deep breath in, long breath out. She kept the feeling of him and let go of the concrete thought. She closed her eyes, arching her back, sinking deeper into the pose. For a moment she almost forgot her surroundings altogether, finding a profound sense of calm.

“What the hell time did you wake up?”

The sound of his voice jarred her back into reality. She turned and looked over her shoulder, flashing him a quick smile before moving back into the pose. “Six.” 

“Six? You get a chance to relax and you're up at six?”

“This is how I relax. From six to ten, every Sunday.”

“Oh – do you want me to --” He turned halfway toward the door, happy to give her her space.

“No, no --” She rocked onto her heels, coming back to standing. She crossed the room quickly, a smile spreading across her face, kissing him lightly. She was aware her pulse had quickened, but his presence had done nothing to dispel her peaceful mood. “Don't go. Why don't you join me?”

“Join you...?” He grimaced doubtfully. “What exactly is it you're doing?”

“Yoga?” There was a tender-hearted mocking tone to the word – _surely even living out in the middle of nowhere you've heard of yoga._

“Ah,” he responded, with a hint of derision – _yes, of course you would do yoga._

But they smiled back at one another again, their affection only deepening in each new difference discovered.

“Come on,” she said, holding her hand out toward him. “Try it.”

“I think I'd just enjoy watching,” he said suggestively, admiring the way she was dressed.

She ignored the remark, half dragging him across the room. “I'll teach you like you taught me to shoot. You might be surprised to find you like this as much as I do that.”

He still looked uncertain. “No, I mean – what you were doing before – I don't _bend_ that way.”

She laughed again lightly. “Kurt, you don't do yoga because you _are_ flexible; you _become_ flexible when you do yoga.”

He allowed himself to be led now, but raised his eyebrows and dropped his voice again. “Is that how you're able to do some of the things you do in bed?”

Her eyes went wide in feigned offense. “I'm sorry?”

He smirked. “It's very sexy.”

“If that inspires you to try, then yes, it probably has something to do with it.” She spoke as if she were slightly exasperated, but as she turned away from him, she allowed herself a devilish sort of smile. She grabbed another mat and laid it out beside hers, her face all business again when she turned back to him. 

“Okay, I'll try it. So what do I do?”

It was disarming to see him suddenly out of place and awkward, but still receptive, trusting her to see him this way. She led him toward the mat, standing opposite him. 

“The first thing you should understand before you do anything else is how to breathe properly. Inhale deeply through the nose, fill your lungs with air, feel your stomach and abdomen expand – and then exhale, deeply through the nose, draw your stomach back to your spine until your lungs are empty. Okay, again, inhale...”

As she explained the technique her fingers moved lightly over his body, tracing the area where he should feel and concentrate on his breath, pressing gently back against his abdomen as he breathed out. Between her touch and the intense way she was staring directly into his eyes, it was a wonder he could focus on anything at all. 

“Now on your next inhale, I want you to fill your lungs and then – breathe in just a little more, feel the air expand into your ribcage --” Her hands moved higher, more firmly stroking where she wanted him to feel it. “And exhale, controlling the breath, releasing first from the ribs, and then lower, back into your spine...” Her hands trailed down his body slowly as he released the breath.

“Good,” she pronounced, with just the slightest quirk to her lips. “Again.”

Again he breathed deeply in, out, and again she guided him with her hands, although he seemed to understand the technique well enough unaided.

“And now when you breathe in, and you've filled your lungs completely, and you feel your ribcage expand, breathe in just a little more, let it fill your chest, all the way up to your collarbone --”

He followed along as she ran her hands higher along his chest, but his breath hitched as her fingertips lingered on his nipples on the way back down.

“All right, try again...”

When she was satisfied with his work she took a step back. “When you breathe properly, you'll get more out of every movement. You will use your breath as you move into and out of poses, and when you breathe in a pose, you will feel every part of your body engaged, and it will help you to move deeper and deeper into the pose. Understand?”

“Sort of.” He was all perplexed concentration now, no longer resisting, but wanting to be good for her.

She smiled reassuringly. “You'll see as we try a few simple poses. All right...”

She had never taught anyone before, but she had attended enough classes, and knew Kurt well enough, to know how to clearly introduce him to the basic concepts. She could see, too, where his posture needed to be corrected. She gently guided him into proper form, in a calm voice explaining her every touch. That was where she quickly realized the difficulty came in. The touch and voice of the instructor was not so different from that of the lover, or perhaps she simply could not help herself when it came to him.

She could tell it was the same for him. She whispered for him to relax and moved her hands over his body soothingly, but the longer this went on the more tense he became. It was endearing, the way he tried to concentrate despite this. Endearing, and impossible to resist messing with him. She let the hand that had been correcting his shoulders softly trace a line down his back.

“Diane,” he finally said, half amused, and half exasperated.

She played innocent. “Hm?” 

“You're distracting me.”

“Now you know how I feel.”

He started to protest, looking back up at her. “But I never--”

She made a _shhh_ noise, gently guiding his head down again, stopping his protesting mouth. She placed her hands firmly on his shoulders again, guiding them back. “That's better. You know, you have a tendency to hunch forward when you pick a fight with me.”

His exhale came as more an annoyed sigh. She let it pass.

“If there's any particular areas you'd like to work on, I can show you some poses that will help.” Slowly she ran her hands down his body from his shoulders to his hips. “Are there places where you're feeling tension... tightness... hardness?” 

“Not sure... What do you think?”

She repositioned herself squarely behind him, continuing to move her hands down the back of his legs, the inside of his thighs, upward... “Oh, you are very tight through here,” she whispered.

Diane found she enjoyed having him so at her mercy, so obviously affected by her every touch. When he showed her how to hold a particular gun, she could keep her cool – up to a point. He may not have known how wet he made her just by moving his hand over her hand over a gun. But she could clearly feel the effect she had on him now. It was impossible to resist taking full advantage of him.

“Yeah, I get that... intermittently.”

She ran her hand slowly over his hardening cock as if identifying a sore muscle. “You want to work on that?”

“Yeah. You know any poses for that?” His voice was huskier now, daring her. Clearly they had entered an area he felt more comfortable in. 

She withdrew her hand and took a step back. She felt an almost overwhelming sense of power, watching him hold the position she left him in, awaiting her instructions.

She allowed long moments to pass, just enjoying the sight of him.

“On your next out breath, come down to your knees.” Her breath hitched in her throat as he did as he was told. And, god, she loved the sight of him.

“Lower yourself down to the mat, and then pivot around and turn onto your back... good.” She licked her lips. _She licked her lips._

He looked up at her intently. It was unnerving. It was titilating. 

And she realized he wouldn't break until she told him to. 

“Take off your clothes.”

He tried to scoff at this, but it strangled in his throat. “Seriously?”

She repeated, reverting to her softer instructor voice. “Take off your clothes.”

His undershirt went first, not without a challenging cocked eyebrow. “Naked yoga?”

“It's an advanced practice, but I think you're ready for it.”

“Yeah?” That smirk again.

Off came his boxers.

“Yeah.” She stood there for an eternity, admiring him. Anticipating. Finally commanding, as if nothing had changed, “Align your elbows directly beneath your shouders, knees in line with your hips...”

He did as he was told, awaiting her approving glance. Awaiting her next move.

She took off her camisole, letting it fall to the floor where his own clothes lay. Then, her eyes never moving from his, her pants.

“Don't forget to breathe.”

Valiantly he made every attempt to hold himself still as she threw one leg over his side, hovered above him for a long moment, and slowly lowered herself down to him. 

Down, down until she was just an inch short of touching him, her lips just short of kissing his.

“ _Breathe_ ,” she reminded him, and he obeyed. She could feel his exhalation now hot against her skin. Fighting to keep her own calm, she went on, “On every in breath you should retract; every out breath, push further--”

She gasped as he did exactly as he was instructed, exhaling, his cock just barely grazing against her.

She steadied her own breath, silently encouraging him to continue this pattern of breathing in and out, pushing against, pulling away, so slowly, so steadily...

“Is this right?” he asked her, looking for her approval, his gaze never wavering from her. 

“How does it feel to you?” She challenged him back, but she almost buckled, almost meeting him, hard, as he rose to touch her again.

“It feels right,” he said, trying to remain playful, but it was clear he was close to losing control.

And so was she.

She let her forehead meet his, breathing hard into his mouth, their lips not quite touching.

“Don't think I was getting the breathing thing till now,” he murmured.

She laughed, a short, almost pained laugh. “Easier to show than to tell sometimes,” she said, adding a moment later, “oh, fuck it.” And she kissed him, hard, as if the only breath left to her were inside him.

He forgot to breathe. To his credit – she gave him that – he held the pose, holding them both steady, pressing hard, up against her.

She pulled back, whispering softly again, “Now--”

He grimaced. Not another pose...

“Lower your hips to the floor... good... raise your legs... and lift your arms – try to balance --”

She positioned herself just above him again.

“Diane--”

“This position is great for strengthening the abs--” she said softly, teasing him, running her hands down the front of his body again, tracing his hips, moving still lower...

“ _Diane_ \--”

“Let go,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Relax, let go.”

It occurred to him she had won simply by instructing him to lose. But surely yoga was not a game of winners and losers. And neither was love. And this did not feel a bit like losing.

He let go, dropping his feet to the ground and pulling her hard against him. “Like this?”

“Mmm, yeah--” She let herself fall down onto him, slowly sliding along his length. She pushed his shoulders against the floor gently. “Let it all go.”

He relaxed, his hands idly stroking her hips, eagerly watching her move. He let go, and let his teacher have her way with him.

She grasped him and lowered herself onto his cock, slowly taking him in, running the palms of her hands back up his chest, to his shoulders, leaning forward to cup his face as she did so. She held him there, still inside her, as she kissed him deeply again.

“Breathe,” she reminded him, pulling back and laughing with him for a moment before burying her face in his neck. 

He channeled all he had learned into it, breathing in – god, the natural morning scent of her – moving deeper as he exhaled, contracting as he inhaled, deeper still as he exhaled again...

Then she moaned softly against him and he forgot everything.

They moved together and they moved all out of time and their breath was mindful and their breath was ragged and raw and they were selfish and wanting and they gave completely to each other and for a moment it occurred to her again just what _balance_ meant – 

and the next moment she was coming hard all around him, senseless and completely attuned to him all at the same time, pushing, pulling, need and satiation.

He held her tightly until she relaxed, until gradually her movements were more purposeful, her touches more consciously aware of his body, his wanting her.

“Let go,” she whispered into his ear one last time, and if he ever could resist her commands he could not now, moving inside her again, mindfully at first then almost mindlessly, peripherally aware of her tongue caressing his jaw and her lips on his cheek and her words in his ear whispering _come on, come on, come now_ and he finally did let himself go, clutching her to him.

They breathed together for long moments.

She lifted her head then, finding his lips, kissing him again, long, slow, luxurious kisses... _Yes_ , she thought, _yes, he could fit nicely into her Sunday mornings..._

She rolled off him, nestling by his side, still somewhat breathless but finding her voice again. “At the end of your yoga practice you move into savasana...”

He half laughed, half groaned in frustration.

She _shhhhhh_ 'd him, playing with the hairs that had fallen on to his forehead. “You're already there. Just lay still on your back. Let all of the tension fade from your body...” 

She let her head rest on his chest, draping one arm across him. She kissed his skin gently. Slowly she allowed thoughts of the future to creep into her mind again. And again she found that peace, that warmth; this was so good, and she could only see it continuing, stretching out into the years before them.

“I have to admit, this is very relaxing,” he said finally. “Though I'm not sure teaching is for you.”

She shrugged, hugging him tighter. “Turnabout's fair play.”

He laughed, pointing out, “You know we've never actually had sex _during_ a shooting lesson.”

“Hmm... why not?” She giggled into his skin, biting him lightly.

They held each other until inevitably life caught up with them. Their bodies soon clamored with other needs – eating, cleansing – which they saw to together. There were the errands of the day, and the work of the next. And it seemed that was how it would be: drawing together, going on apart. Breathe in, breathe out. Work, life, love. From now on there would be no going out without this coming back home to each other, this making room for each other. She did not know what the routine would be now, but there was room for this, for him. And there would be from now on – absolutely, essentially – a balance.


End file.
